Spring is peeking out all over this morning. The Bradford Pears up the street are in full bloom and buds are noticeable on many of the other trees. Yesterday, I had to mow for the first time this year. I cleaned out the leaves from the flower beds, anticipating the approaching frost-free date later this month, so Spring color could be planted. It’s the perfect working weather – not too hot, not too cold.

However, I also discovered I have a problem requiring immediate resolution. I have squirrels in my attic. To some of you that comes as no surprise, but I’ll address that in a bit…

I thought I’d been hearing something up there when I’d get up in the morning. I hoped I was just hearing things in the fog of awakening, but I found out where the little critters were getting in when I was working in the yard yesterday. I hate having to get in the attic. Unfortunately, I can’t procrastinate in this matter. The reality is the furry little tree rats can do a lot of damage. So, I need to climb up there and put out the mothballs, fox urine, or poison the little devils: do whatever it takes. Then I have repair the area where they’re getting in. It’s a pattern I’ve become familiar with in my life.

Those of you to whom “squirrels in the attic” are no surprise know exactly what I’m going through. They’re annoying and probably causing all kinds of damage and mess, but I find all kinds of reasons to put off going “up there”. They’re in the smallest part of the attic. I’m too big to get back there. Maybe I can just wait until they’re out doing what squirrels do and block up where they’re getting in. Maybe they’ll go away on their own. The list goes on and on.

The truth of the matter lies is that I’m scared. Fear takes hold when I think of dark recesses and furry little rodents. It doesn’t seem very manly, but it is what it is. Fortunately, I have friends who have gotten the squirrels out of their own attic. They don’t want to admit they were scared too, but they got the little demons. And they’re more than happy to help me out.

Metaphorically speaking, I started getting the “squirrels out of the attic” several years ago. You know, the crazy thoughts and subsequent actions causing tremendous damage and mess to my world. Complete strangers became close friends and taught me how to deal with the “squirrels”. The biggest problem was admitting they were up there in the first place. If I could just pretend they weren’t there, I wouldn’t have to get the ladder, if you know what I mean.

I’m so grateful you helped me chase them out. And even more grateful you’ve helped me find their entry points and close them up. They still find ways to get in even the tiniest hole, but I’m not as apt to put off getting rid of them. You help me stay more vigilant by keeping them out of there in the first place. “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure” as the old saying goes…

Keeping the attic clear has become a necessary evil at my house. Stuff gets shoved up there. The squirrels come and make a mess so every now and then, I have to clear it out. I throw out what’s old or unusable. It’s remarkable how that process seems to lessen my fears every time I go up there…

Anyway, I’ve got the mothballs, poisoned peanut butter, and the ladder ready; not too mention a big work light. The light comes in handy in the dark places and reminds me I’m not scared anymore…

Thoughts From the Porch: I don’t watch a lot of television. I usually have other things to do. In fact, until Margaret and I married five years ago I hadn’t even had a tv set for several years. I find that if I do sit down to watch the small screen I might as well right off the rest of the evening. Somehow, I slowly become one with the recliner until the 10 o’clock news…

Last night was different. I wasn’t feeling well so I crawled into bed to watch tv an NCIS “marathon” (a nicer sounding term for “binge-watching”), hoping I’d nap a bit instead. That’s not what I got though. I won’t bore you with the details of the episode. It had to do with the death of one of the character’s father. I applaud the screenwriters and actors. It was well done and elicited an emotional response: unusual for the small screen with it’s laugh tracks and brevity. Even though my Dad has been gone almost 15 years, the tears flowed. Unresolved grief has a way a making an appearance at strange times.

I reflected on that a lot this morning on the porch. There’s some promises offered in the recovery community that may seem like a real “no-brainer” to the rest of society. The one that grabbed my attention this morning is that we’ll “not regret the past…”. Church had another version: “forgive and forget”. I’m not sure that either are entirely true.

I do have regrets today. At least I think so. Identifying what I’m really feeling is still hard sometimes, even after some years of practice. I spend my days trying to find the right word when writing for my clients or my thoughts from the porch. Today I feel inadequate doing so. I‘m not sure how to label it. I guess regret will have to do.

I look back at my life and I find things I just wish I had done differently. I wish I’d been a better father and a better son. I wish a lot of things, but as Dad used to remind me, “Wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which gets full first”. I learned to admit my failures and make amends, to make things right, to the best of my ability. That’s brought me a sense of freedom, forgiveness, and peace. But it doesn’t change the fact that I wish none of it had ever happened; or at least Dad were here to talk to about it. Grief must not have an expiration date…

Maybe regret isn’t what’s really going on. It’s not regret as much as it is grief. The reality is he is here to share this with. As I sat reflecting this morning I heard him remind me all that “what’s done is done, life is what it is, and God is good. What am I going to do about it?” Thanks for the reminder, Dad. Good advice for a wonderful morning…